All the Broken Pieces
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Draco survived the war, but the war didn't really leave him. He's haunted, and maybe Astoria holds the key to his healing.:: for Aya


_For the lovely and wonderful Aya. Happy very early birthday!_

_Word Count: 1513_

* * *

_Astoria Greengrass looks broken, pitiful. Draco wants nothing more than to get her to safety, to be the hero that she needs. But he doesn't. He can't. Amycus and Alecto Carrow are looking at him with expectant eyes, and he knows what he is supposed to do._

_That doesn't mean he wants to. He is so sick of playing this part, of never being enough like his father. His father wouldn't hesitate, but Draco… As much as he hates to admit it, Draco is soft. The Dark Lord has said as much, mocking Draco so openly during meetings._

_Maybe Draco deserves it. Maybe he…_

_He shakes his head, forcing himself back to the present. "She's a Slytherin," he says. "She's one of ours."_

_But that isn't quite true, and he knows it. The Greengrass family has always been a little strange, never quite fitting in. Astoria and Daphne have spent the past few proving how dangerous being different truly is._

_"Do it now, Draco," Amycus urges._

_With no other choice, Draco raises his wand._

…

He bolts upright, a scream ripping through his throat. Cold sweat beads his face, and it takes several moments to remember how to breathe.

The war is over. That's what they say at least. Two weeks ago, Potter defeated the Dark Lord, and that should have been the end of it.

Draco doesn't think the war will ever truly leave. Only the dead are free of it; everyone else, regardless of which side they had fought on, will always be haunted.

He's had nightmares every time he's closed his eyes. Truth be told, the bad dreams aren't new. They've been in his head since before the battle. Guilt, white-hot and weighing so painfully on him, has been eating away at him since he took the Dark Mark.

But no one cares about him. Not really. After Potter spoke at his trial, the world sort of lost interest in him. He's just another broken boy. Nothing special, not worth any concern.

"Astoria," he whispers, recalling his dream.

She is something special. Even when he had tortured her, she had held her head high, refusing to break. After, she had looked at him with pity in her eyes, like maybe she actually cared about him.

Daphne had fought in the war. Draco had watched her stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Terry Boot, a fierce warrior in battle.

The Greengrass sisters had proven that Slytherin isn't synonymous with evil. Draco wishes he could have been like that. In the end, he had been a coward, only concerned with saving his own skin.

…

He isn't sure why he finds himself outside the Greengrass chateau. He shouldn't be here. After everything he had done, he should run away and never even think about Astoria again.

Instead, he makes his way across the lawn, his heart hammering.

"Draco Malfoy?"

He freezes, his heart constricting at the voice. For several seconds, all he can do is take in a shaky breath that does nothing to steady his nerves. When he manages to turn his head, something inside him hurts in a way he cannot put into words.

Astoria smiles at him as she approaches, a bouquet of purple and white flowers in her delicate hands. "If I had known you were dropping by, I would have prepared sandwiches or something," she tells him.

He opens his mouth, but his mind blurs, and he can't seem to find his train of thought. "I'm sorry."

And with that, he turns and runs because he doesn't know what else to do.

…

_"I don't like hurting people," he confesses._

_Pansy rolls her eyes. "I don't think anyone actually likes hurting people," she says._

_"You do."_

_Her lips quirk, but they don't quite form a smile. Without bothering to respond, she focuses her attention on her Charms essay. Draco doesn't understand how she does it. The world is falling apart, but she is still so concerned about her grades and final exams._

_"Do you ever think we backed the wrong side?"_

_Pansy's head shoots up. She looks around, eyes wide with fear. Speaking freely is no longer safe, not even for people like them. When she's satisfied that no one is around who might have heard, she leans in, dropping her voice to an urgent whisper. "We're doing what we have to do in order to survive."_

_His eyes flicker to where Astoria sits with Daphne. The sisters laugh and smile, like things haven't been flipped upside-down, like Draco hadn't just tortured the younger Greengrass girl less than a week ago._

_Maybe life should be about more than just surviving._

…

Draco doubles over the moment his eyes open. He leans over his bed, heaving. Nothing comes out, but his stomach continues to twist itself into painful knots. Tears sting his eyes.

Why is she haunting him? Isn't that for ghosts? Astoria is still very much alive, but she won't let him go.

"_Accio _firewhiskey," he murmurs.

The alcohol doesn't really help. He's still left feeling hollow and broken. It's just a comfort, the reminder that even if things aren't okay, at least there's a numbing oblivion at the bottom of the bottle.

…

He thinks that maybe he shouldn't be surprised to find Astoria in the parlor, having tea with his mother. When he steps into the room, his hair disheveled and clothes still wrinkled from sleeping in them, both women look up.

His mother smiles at him. "Ah, Draco," she says, "I was beginning to worry."

"Why did you let me sleep so long?" he asks, cheeks burning as he tries to smooth out his unruly hair.

"I had a feeling you needed the extra rest."

His skin burns hotter. He must have screamed in his sleep again. "Thanks."

His mother climbs to her feet, smiling brightly. "If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Minister," she says. "Astoria, it was wonderful to see you. Tell your mother I said that we really must get together to celebrate your sister's engagement."

With that, she's gone, and Draco is left standing there awkwardly. He can't run this time. Well, maybe he can, but he knows how weak he would look.

"You look awful," Astoria says bluntly.

And she looks beautiful. Somehow, she makes jeans and a plain button-up blouse look nothing short of elegant.

He forces himself not to think about that. He has no right. After everything he's done, after all the pain he has caused her and countless others….

"I'm getting what I deserve, right?" he whispers, sitting across from her and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Do you know how much damage I've done?"

"Yes."

Again, she is so painfully honest, but he can't bring himself to resent her for it.

"But I also know that you didn't have a choice." She sets her teacup down, focusing her full attention on him. "I need you to understand."

"Understand what? I'm a monster, and the only reason I'm not rotting in Azkaban is because my mother was good. My mother protected Potter, and he protected me. Mercy. A debt I can never pay back." His fingers curl inward, forming fists; the skin stretches over his knuckles so painfully tight. He jumps to his feet. "I never asked for it! Any of it! I never wanted this!"

He never wanted to join the Dark Lord, to be tasked with killing Dumbledore, to be turned into a soldier while he's still a bloody kid, to fight in a war he never wanted any part of, to be saved, to be pitied, to live….

"I never… Never…"

He doesn't see her move, but she's standing in front of him within seconds, resting her hands on his shoulders. It's such a simple gesture, just a gentle touch, but he feels himself melting at it. A weight seems to lift from his shoulders.

"You can't change the past," she says softly. "It's gone. You can either learn from it and move on, or you can let that guilt drive you mad."

"You don't understand…"

"And I won't pretend to," she says. "But I need you to know that you aren't alone. I'm here. Just let me in, okay?"

"Why?" he asks. "Why would you want to help me?"

She leans in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. "Because the thought of you thinking you're alone hurts me more than anything else." She laughs softly, shaking her head. "Because when I was eleven years old, I told my sister that you were the boy I was going to marry."

He laughs awkwardly, caught off guard by the bold admission. "I… Don't you think you should buy me dinner first?"

And just like that, he feels something stir within him. It has been far too long since he has felt the beautiful lightness, this faint fluttering of hope. The darkness is still there, and he doesn't think it will ever go away.

Still, as he stands there, looking at Astoria's smiling face, he thinks that maybe he can find some semblance of normalcy again.


End file.
